


Take me for a spin

by sixtotenpotatoes (schiefergrau)



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Resolved Sexual Tension, Self-Indulgent, Shotgunning, Unresolved Emotional Tension, White House era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 20:01:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14386077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schiefergrau/pseuds/sixtotenpotatoes
Summary: Tommy is stressed and tense and Jon has a plan.Getting high—and getting off.





	Take me for a spin

**Author's Note:**

> If you know someone mentioned in this story or are mentioned yourself, please click away. This is a work of fiction about fictional characters who happen to share their names and faces with some real people. I'm aware of the difference between them, and I trust you are as well.   
> Please do not share this work with anyone outside of fandom spaces. 
> 
>  
> 
> I can’t believe it took ten years, Trump becoming President and me falling head over heels for a rare pair to make me write fic again—but here we are.
> 
> The biggest thank you goes to [Blake](http://boatshoefucker.tumblr.com/). Not only for beta reading and making this so much better but also for assuring me time and time again that my English really doesn't suck. And for wanting to read this fic even before it was finished. Without you, it wouldn’t be. So thank you, danke og tusen takk! 
> 
> A big thank you also to [Mandy](http://alittledizzy.tumblr.com/) (and all the lovely participants) for several Word Wars and actually making me write instead of procrastinating. Peer pressure is a powerful tool and you’re the real MVP! <3
> 
> The title is from Of Monsters and Men’s “Slow and Steady”

The last dusty sunbeams of the summer evening disappear behind the building opposite their apartment, reminding Jon that he hasn’t properly eaten since arriving home. It’s been hours. Hours filled with lazy lounging on the sofa and the promise of a weekend free of plans. He thinks maybe he should do something, but that only lasts a moment. He’s just too content with the situation, still pleasantly high from the joint he smoked earlier, curled up on the couch, looking at the tv without taking anything in. It’s the least productive thing he’s done all month, and it’s glorious. 

Jon’s not even sure what he’s watching, he’d just made sure it had as little to do with politics as possible. His mind is silent for once, blissfully peaceful. But as soon as Tommy opens the door to their apartment the peace is over. Not because Tommy is loud but just the opposite. He’s eerily quiet, just nodding briefly at Jon before disappearing into the kitchen. 

Jon knows the hard line of Tommy’s shoulders and the vein in his neck too well to not recognize it for what it is. It’s been a really shitty day at the end of a really, really shitty week. And he knows how Tommy will deal with it. Jon’s run into him more than once at four in the morning, still awake and already on his way back to work; if he hadn’t, the circles under Tommy’s eyes would tell their own story. Tommy copes mostly fine with whatever haunts him during normal work weeks, but free time seems to be what feeds his anxiety, what makes him lie awake for hours and hours.

Jon’s so deep in his thoughts about Tommy’s sleeplessness that he misses him reappearing in the doorframe.

“Did you already have dinner? I forgot that I forgot to go grocery shopping,” he says, sheepishly. 

 

 

While Tommy orders them food Jon has the opportunity to take a closer look at him. He looks even worse than Jon initially thought—he’s pale, almost ashen. His cheekbones seem a bit more prominent than usual. There are dark circles under his eyes, and Jon’s muscles ache in sympathy at how tense he looks. It’s entirely possible, Jon thinks, that a weekend of no sleep and too much worrying could break Tommy, and Jon is not in the mood to pick up the pieces. He’s done it one too many times already. 

It was shortly after Tommy moved in with him, shortly after his engagement and all his plans went up in flames. There was broken glass and blood and tears, and Jon remembers how helpless he felt. Just thinking about it makes his chest ache, and he knows he can’t let Tommy get that bad again. 

While they wait for their food Jon tells Tommy about this idea he has for a tv show. He draws out the plot, describes sketches of scenes, and picks scraps of dialogue out of thin air until Tommy finally laughs more freely and all the ordered food is gone. 

Now it’s time for the second part of Jon’s incredibly well-thought-out plan. 

“You don’t get regularly tested for drugs, do you?” Jon asks slowly, looking Tommy up and down as if he could read the answer off of him. 

“No, I don’t. The few times I smoked weed in college didn’t concern anyone dealing with my security clearance enough to warrant that.” He shrugs, almost apologetically. 

Jon snorts, “Only you could be self-conscious about not getting regularly drug tested.” 

“Shut up,” Tommy snaps. His ears are red, though, and Jon knows he’s hit a sore spot. But he lets it go because he really needs Tommy to have a good relaxing weekend. He can’t spend another night on the kitchen floor picking glass out of pale, freckled skin; holding a body too small for the emotions within.

But maybe, he thinks, this would help… 

“Wanna smoke some weed with me? You look like you could use it," Jon says, gesturing vaguely in Tommy’s direction because it’s, quite frankly, self-explanatory, Tommy sitting there still tense and pale. “You don’t have work tomorrow, do you?”

Tommy grimaces. He says, “I shouldn’t," and after a heavy pause, “but we’ll see.” 

Jon knows better than to ask. 

“But sure, yeah, why not. Maybe that’ll actually help me sleep more than six hours this weekend.” He smiles at Jon, thin and jaded, and Jon is pleasantly surprised by how little convincing it took. 

 

 

While Jon rolls another joint Tommy talks about his week—vaguely enough for Jon to ask “should I be worried?” which Tommy denies. Tommy’s changed into more comfortable clothes, soft grey sweatpants and a worn-out red shirt that shouldn’t suit anybody but looks great on Tommy. Jon isn’t sure if he’s envious or appreciative. 

“Anyway, the synopsis is: you shouldn't worry. I, on the other hand, am paid to.”

“That doesn’t sound particularly fair to me.”

“Life isn’t,” Tommy shrugs.

“Don’t get all gloomy on me, Vietor,” Jon says, elbowing him gently in the ribs. Tommy doesn’t react, not even by shoving Jon away. Jon rests the joint between his lips to talk out of the side of his mouth. “Let’s start trying to distract you for a while.” 

 

 

“When was the last time you smoked?” Jon asks. Tommy already looks a bit spaced out, and Jon wants to make sure this is a nice, relaxing thing and not a violently-vomiting-later thing. 

Tommy laughs and puts a hand over his eyes. “Dude, I haven’t thought about that night in ages. Oh my god…”

“Bad memories?” Jon asks, absolutely fishing for any and every piece of Tommy’s embarrassing past he can get.

“Oh no, the opposite,” Tommy says and grins in a way that makes him look stupid. Still handsome, Jon thinks, and hates himself a bit for it. 

“Better than the memory you’re making now?” he asks, now fishing for compliments instead of information.

“Haven’t decided yet. I mean, no complaints so far, but...” Tommy pauses and grins, “there was a lot more shotgunning involved the last time.” 

And then—then he has the audacity to wink at Jon. 

What the fuck. 

After staring at Tommy for a moment, open-mouthed and speechless, Jon regains his composure. He will not be bullied this way. Not from a straight waspy boy like Tommy.

“Well, we aren’t twenty anymore—but if that’s what you want,” Jon says sharply and winks back at Tommy as obnoxiously as he can muster. Then he takes a deep hit and inches closer to Tommy. He takes his time, draws the breath out, moves pointedly slowly—just to give Tommy the chance to back off. 

But Tommy makes no move to, and when Jon lifts the joint from his lips and angles his head, looking up at him out of half-lidded eyes, Tommy braces one hand next to Jon’s head and leans down until their lips are almost touching. 

It takes everything Jon has to let the smoke escape his lips slowly and measured. His heart is beating too fast, and there’s a laugh stuck in his throat. He feels completely blindsided by Tommy, doesn't know what this is or where it’s going. Just knows it’s a lot to process. 

When Tommy pulls back he has a tiny smile on his parted lips. It’s not mocking like Jon would have expected it to be. It’s just there, soft and very Tommy. 

Jon’s heart is thumping hard against his ribs, hard enough that he’s sure it must be audible.

The smoke curls out between Tommy’s lips, and Jon lets his eyes wander. Tommy looks softer around the edges now; he’s lost the stressed frown around his mouth, the tense strain in his shoulders almost gone. Jon wants to reach out and touch. Wants to know how Tommy’s cheekbones would feel under his fingertips, wants to let his palms run over the edge of his jaw, wants to bury his fingers in his hair. Wants to… 

Interesting, Jon thinks to himself, that’s new. New but not entirely surprising.

They don’t speak for minutes, just glancing at each other every now and then. The silence should be unnerving, but it’s actually kind of nice. The joke Jon wants to make dies on his tongue—he’s afraid to disrupt the moment. He’s too curious as to where this will go if he doesn’t break the silence.

After a while, Tommy takes the joint from between Jon’s fingers. Jon’s skin tingles where their fingers brushed, and he can’t stop himself marveling in the aftershock of such minimal contact. In fact, he’s so busy _feeling_ that he misses how Tommy lights the joint up again and takes a deep hit. He comes back to the present when Tommy’s fingers are suddenly under his jaw and he’s tipping Jon’s head back for better access to Jon’s mouth. Tommy’s eyes are dark, his cheeks pink. Jon can’t look away. 

Tommy leans even closer and starts to exhale. His gaze never leaves Jon’s, and Jon almost forgets how to breathe. It’s incredibly intimate—intimate in a way he doesn’t like to be, not with Tommy, not with anyone really. And still, he doesn’t look away. He can’t, and if he’s entirely honest with himself he knows he doesn’t want to. 

“Is this how we’re gonna finish the thing?” Jon asks after Tommy pulls back, voice rough through the smoke.

“More buzz for less money.” Tommy shrugs and smiles almost shyly. 

“As if you’d have to worry about money, you trust fund baby,” Jon teases gently.

Tommy rolls his eyes at him and mouths ‘Not a trust fund baby,’ but Jon decides to ignore it. He knows it’s not true. All the better reason to joke about it.

With his head still tipped back, he can’t stop himself smiling up at Tommy. His pupils are huge, and he’s got a smile on his lips that must mirror Jon’s. 

“And are you seriously telling me you’re not getting high?” 

“Maybe I want more,” Tommy says, and Jon thinks that maybe they’re not talking about smoking anymore when Tommy casually places his hand on Jon’s thigh, like it’s something they do. 

Jon laughs around the sudden lump in his throat. “Well, what are you waiting for then, Vietor?”

Tommy lifts his hand up to Jon’s jaw, holds his chin in a light grasp and places the joint between Jon’s lips. Jon realizes not for the first time how big Tommy’s hands are. What’s new is how soft they are.

When Jon raises his eyebrows at him in a question Tommy shrugs. “Your turn.” 

Tommy is nothing if not fair and considerate, Jon thinks, warm with affection. He doesn’t miss the way Tommy’s thumb brushes the corner of his mouth just a moment too long as he moves his hand away. Jon shifts the joint slightly between his lips to make it easier for Tommy to light it, and Tommy’s eyes never leave Jon’s the entire time. Jon is still surprised it isn’t making him feel raw and exposed, just warm and content. 

He fills his lungs with smoke, holds it, then opens his lips slightly further. Tommy leans closer on that signal and—wow, that’s really close, Jon thinks. 

He lets the smoke escape, and his bottom lip lightly grazes Tommy’s. He wants to let his head fall further back, give Tommy more space—but there is none. 

And Tommy doesn’t seem to mind because he chases the contact until their bottom lips line up again. There’s a question in his eyes that Jon doesn’t have the answer to.

Jon’s head is spinning now, soft and surging, his heart running a mile a second. He exhales slowly, very slowly, stretches the moment just a bit longer. His eyes are closed; he feels like he can’t look at Tommy anymore. There’s too much going on in his head, going on in his heart. He feels unsettled to the core but somehow safe and secure against the solid line of Tommy’s body so close to his. 

And then Tommy closes the remaining distance between their mouths and presses his lips to Jon’s. It’s not a kiss, not really. Still, it tingles in Jon’s spine, spreads from his shoulder blades to his arms to his fingertips. He can’t believe it’s happening.

When there’s no smoke left in Jon’s lungs he waits for Tommy to pull back—which he does, but it's just inches and just to exhale, before pressing his lips to Jon’s again, this time with intent.

It’s the softest first kiss Jon’s ever had—lips just lightly touching for a while, breathing each other in and soaking in the newness of the sensation. It’s so easy to melt into him even further when Tommy’s fingers curl around the side of Jon’s neck, thumb slightly brushing the sensitive skin behind his ear. Tommy’s other hand is on Jon’s hip, pulling him just a bit closer. Tommy is warm and solid, and it’s like Jon’s body only exists in points of contact. He’s never felt so outside of himself yet so amazing at the same time. 

Jon’s hands find Tommy’s face, and he lets his thumbs run over his cheekbones like he wanted to before. Tommy huffs a tiny laugh against his lips as if he sees right through him. Jon opens his mouth to swallow the sound, and it’s an invitation Tommy’s eagerly takes, deepening the kiss without wasting a breath. 

It’s almost ridiculously innocent, kisses soft and lingering, hands not exploring, just holding. Jon knows they shouldn’t be sharing a kiss like this. If anything it should have been a drunken kiss that’s nothing more than a joke in the kitchen at a house party or the consequence of a stupid bet on the wrong side of midnight. 

It should have been meaningless. This feels anything but. It’s just—there is not a single part of Jon’s brain interested in exploring that logic right now. Instead, he lets himself sink deeper into the couch until he’s lying on his back, lips never leaving Tommy’s. 

Tommy slides their bodies up against each other with a grace that surprises Jon. He’s not sure what exactly they’re doing here, but Tommy is pliant and soft and never stops kissing him, so whatever it is, he seems on board. 

Jon lets his hands run through Tommy’s hair. It makes Tommy shiver so slightly against him, and Jon suddenly needs to coax more of that reaction out of him. Tommy’s hair is light and silky between Jon’s fingers. A tremble goes through Tommy’s body and Jon need to really touch him, needs to feel the muscles moving under his fingers. Needs to know that this is real and not some fucked up dream. He lets his hand run over Tommy's ribs, sides, hip, feels the muscles in Tommy’s back quivering under his palm.

It’s real. It’s very, very real. 

Jon feels like he’s floating. Tommy is all that he feels and tastes and hears. When Tommy shifts his weight just slightly it lights a fire in Jon’s belly that doesn’t reflect the lazy kisses and touches from before. His hands in Tommy’s hair and shirt tighten, his hips moving involuntarily, and Jon feels Tommy smile into the kiss. Jon doesn’t have it in himself to feel embarrassed. Especially not when Tommy presses down again, testing... and Jon responds with a small, breathless moan. 

Tommy breaks the kiss for the first time, and Jon immediately misses it with a force that almost scares him. He doesn’t seem to be alone though because Tommy ducks back in, chases Jon’s lips for another gentle kiss and another one and… 

Tommy is finally able to tear himself away and put a bit of distance between them. Jon takes in the sight of him and is sure Tommy has never looked better—lips red and plush, cheeks pink, eyes bright. His hair is tousled, and Jon could look at him forever. 

“Is this okay?" Tommy asks, low and breathless. The sound makes something in Jon’s stomach flutter, and he knows he wants more.

“Shouldn’t it be me asking that question? But yeah, of course it’s okay. More than okay,” Jon says, laughing helplessly to himself, “is it okay for you too?”

“One hundred percent,” Tommy says, and Jon pulls him back in.

 

 

They make out for what feels like hours. Jon knows he’s never been this PG with someone for this long since his teenage years. And as much as he enjoys it, all he can think about at this point is getting his hands on Tommy’s dick. He’s not sure what their boundaries are here but only one way to find out...

He cups Tommy’s face in his hands, gently slowing the kiss and eventually breaking it. He can’t help his soft smile as he whispers, “Hey, hey Tommy, hey.”

“Hey Jon,” Tommy answers, light and breathless. 

“Can I take off your pants? And preferably mine, too? Is that okay?”

“Fuck yes,” Tommy laughs huskily. He hides his face in the crook of Jon’s neck and says, softer, “whatever you want, Jon. Whatever you want.”

It’s a promise Jon knows Tommy won’t be able to keep—there are things Jon wants, there are things he can’t even allow himself to want, and none of them are what Tommy would want—but he’s touched by the sentiment nonetheless. He’s going to make sure this is a good memory for Tommy, one he can look back on in a few years, hide his face in his hands and laugh fondly about. He presses a soft kiss to the underside of Tommy’s jaw. It’s a silent thank you for the trust he’s putting in him. 

They’re not going to fuck. As much as the idea sends shivers down Jon's spine, the effort it would take to get them off of this couch, out of this room… and he’s already so on edge just from kissing Tommy that old-fashioned handjobs will be more than enough. Not to mention easier to disentangle from the inconvenient feelings already creeping in.

Tommy’s lips on his neck remind him of his original plan to get them out of their clothes.

He lets his hands run down Tommy’s sides, appreciating his solid frame, and tugs on Tommy’s pants to hint that he wants them gone. This position is almost too much—flat on his back with Tommy everywhere above him. It makes him feel small in the best way possible. 

Jon shamelessly watches as Tommy pulls his pants down with one hand. He’s wearing tight boxer briefs, and Jon can finally see what he was only able to feel up until now. He runs his hands up under Tommy’s shirt and back down again. When he reaches Tommy’s ass he squeezes, let’s himself feel the muscles moving under his palms before he pulls him closer.

One layer less but still not enough. Jon wants to feel, needs to. His hands glide under Tommy’s boxers, eagerly tracing the round, firm curve of his ass. Tommy looks almost surprised by the moan that escapes him, mouth open, lips pink. He’s so fucking pretty in this moment that it’s hard to look at him. Jon would never have guessed he’d be so turned on by bright-eyed surprise and lazy enthusiasm, but here he is. 

Or maybe, a voice in the back of his head says, it’s just that it’s Tommy. 

It’s not an idea he’s willing to entertain in this moment, so he shoves Tommy’s briefs down, a bit rougher than necessary, just to think about something else, anything else. Jon looks down to see Tommy’s hard dick slap unceremoniously against his belly when released from the elastic band. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but Jon shivers with a desire to touch, to feel, to taste. He reaches out and lets his finger glide over the soft skin. Nothing is hotter than how hard Tommy is—because of this, because of Jon. 

And fuck, the sounds Tommy’s making now that Jon has his whole hand around Tommy and is jerking his dick—slowly at first, then increasingly faster, harder. Jon can’t get enough of the harsh small sounds Tommy makes against his lips, sounds he doesn’t even seem to realize he's making. Jon’s so turned on that he can’t even think of his own dick, could probably come from the sounds Tommy’s making alone. 

And then Tommy’s hand is on his, stopping his movement. Tommy pants against his lips, “Slow down, Jon. At least let me touch your dick before you make me come,” and then a breathy, “please?” 

And Jon was wrong—this, this right here is the single hottest thing that’s happened so far. Probably the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him. So he nods, looks at Tommy, wordlessly and wondering. 

When Tommy’s hand finds his hip, fingers dipping under the waistband of Jon’s pants, he pauses, suddenly hesitant. Their eyes meet, and there’s something in Tommy’s face that makes Jon’s stomach sink. But then Tommy leans closer, brushes their noses together and whispers, “I’ve never done this before, and I have no idea what I’m doing, just so you know.”

“That’s fine, you’re a fast learner,” Jon whispers back. He doesn’t know why they’re whispering, but somehow it feels important. Tommy kisses him, soft and slow and heavy. 

Jon’s so hard that even shorts and sweatpants feel too tight, and together they finally get his pants pushed down to his knees. He needs a moment to swallow the uncertainty that rises up his throat. He feels exposed and unsure of what to do, as if this is his first time. But all thought leaves him when Tommy kisses him hungrily and presses their hips together. The friction is good, so good, and Jon needs more more more...

Tommy breaks the kiss to look down between them where their dicks are rubbing together between their bellies, and Jon starts to feel embarrassed again under the intense gaze. But then Tommy lets out a low moan. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

The sound Jon makes when Tommy closes a hand around his dick should be embarrassing, but he can’t even think let alone feel ashamed at this point. All he can think about is that this is Tommy’s hand on his dick, that holy shit they’re really doing this.

Tommy moves his hand slowly, measured but with purpose. One arm is braced on the couch next to Jon’s head, his eyes focused down between them. It leaves Jon breathless. He’s seen Tommy focus completely on something before, of course he has, but he’s never been the target of that focus. It touches something deep inside him—something he’s not ready to explore yet. For a moment he has to close his eyes, emotions building up inside of him, sensory input overwhelming him. He takes a couple of deep breaths and then pulls Tommy back into a hungry kiss, bucks his hips up into his hand. Tommy loses his rhythm for a moment, breath hitching. 

Jon’s hand finds Tommy’s and together they continue to work the both of them. It lacks any grace or finesse, it’s a bit too dry, a bit too rough. But that doesn’t stop it from feeling so incredibly good that Jon feels close already. 

“I’m going to…” he breathes, and Tommy interrupts, “Yeah me too, me too.” His voice breaks a bit at the end when he can’t keep in another moan. Jon feels his toes curl. He can’t keep his hips on the couch, can’t keep them from bucking up into the touch. They kiss open mouthed and messy, again and again until everything collapses over Jon in a wave of euphoria and white heat, and he can’t keep Tommy’s name from leaving his lips.

 

 

Jon comes back to himself very, very slowly. He expects to feel some kind of panic, some kind of regret in his stomach, but there’s nothing. Just Tommy. Warm and heavy, boneless and so heartachingly beautiful in his afterglow. 

Jon closes his eyes for a minute, savoring the moment as long as it lasts, as long as it can last. Tommy doesn’t move an inch, but as much as Jon wants to live in this moment, they have to face the real world sooner or later.

“I know my goal tonight was to get you to relax. But right now you are too relaxed in the wrong place,” Jon says, breathless and so much softer than he had intended to. 

“Huh?” Tommy lifts his head from Jon’s shoulder just enough to look him in the eye.

“You’re crushing me.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Tommy blushes and pushes himself off of him. 

Jon already senses the awkwardness creeping in, and he can’t have that. Not with Tommy and especially not after tonight. So he sits up and catches Tommy's wrist, pulling him back into his side. They’re both sitting there with their pants down to their thighs, and it’s so ridiculous that Jon almost laughs despite everything.

“Don’t,” he says instead, “don’t run away and make this weird.” 

“No—yeah, okay, you're right.”

They shuffle awkwardly back into their clothes and sit there for a while, unsure of what to say.

“That was nice,” Jon finally says. It’s weak, but saying ‘That was by far the best make out I’ve had in a very long time, and I’d like all of our future weekends to look like this. And weekdays too, if that’s fine by you’ would be a bit too honest. It’s what he wants to say, though. And he hates his desperate heart for wanting it—but how can he not want this again and again and again?

“It was,” Tommy agrees. His tone and face are carefully blank. 

“And it seems like it worked, right? You look way less stressed.”

“It did and I am,” Tommy says. His smile is shy, but there’s a puckish glint in his eyes.

Jon doesn’t know if it’s that, doesn’t know why, but he feels a sudden rush of courage. So he asks, as casually as possible, “Would you be up for doing this again sometime? Like, even just the smoking. Or the other part. Only if you want to, I mean. No hard feelings if not.” Jon knows he's rambling now and presses his lips together. 

“I think I’d be into that,” Tommy says, and somehow—somehow it sounds like a promise. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello on [tumblr](http://sixtotenpotatoes.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> (I swear the word count is just a coincidence I didn't even see until I posted this.)


End file.
